


The Next Best Thing Raid

by dracsmith



Category: The Rat Patrol
Genre: Champagne, Gen, Multilingual Character, Post-Episode The Decoy Raid, World War II, concussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 16:54:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20585846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracsmith/pseuds/dracsmith
Summary: The S.S. officer shot by Dietrich in the episode "The Decoy Raid" was under an internal investigation when he died, and the investigator wants to talk to Dietrich.





	The Next Best Thing Raid

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in HEROES' PLIGHT #3, March 1996.

"Tully! What happened?" 

Private Tully Pettigrew sat up slowly and looked around. He was in the midst of a clump of scrubby bushes. Troy and Hitch were staring down at him with worried faces. He felt scratchy and sore but otherwise okay. "Jeep hit a mine," he said. "Must've been thrown clear. Where's Moffitt?" Troy and Hitch didn't say anything. "Sarge?" 

"We found the jeep, or what's left of it," said Troy grimly. "We didn't find Moffitt." 

Tully climbed to his feet with Hitch's help. They walked slowly toward the wrecked jeep some yards away. 

"Look at this," Troy said, pointing to the ground beyond the wreckage. Tracks were evident, faint but definite in the hard dry ground. 

Hitch came over and squatted down to examine the tracks. "One half-track, not a convoy. Probably out for a reconnoiter." 

"You think they got Moffitt?" Tully asked Troy, who was squinting along the line the tracks made into the distance. Troy nodded without turning around. Tully spotted something dark on the ground. "Sarge!" he called, bending over to pick it up. Troy and Hitch joined him as he held it out for them to see. 

It was Moffitt's bloodstained beret.

* * *

Dietrich waited nervously in his office for the arrival of the SS investigator assigned to Obersturmführer Wansee's case. The SS man, a Colonel Forscher, had radioed ahead that he wanted to interview everyone connected with Wansee's life--and death. Dietrich, of course, had been involved with both. 

Looking back over his encounter just a couple of weeks earlier with the Obersturmführer, he found that he really could not regret the man's death. A temporary truce had been called to permit the Red Cross to administer typhus vaccine to the inhabitants of a small town, in an effort to forestall an epidemic. In a fit of paranoid rage Wansee had accused the Red Cross people of being spies, kidnapped the nurse and her aide and impounded the vaccine. Dietrich had gone to argue for their return. He realized quickly that something was terribly wrong; Wansee murdered the aide in cold blood and spoke with a kind of sick glee of how much he anticipated interrogating the nurse. Wansee demonstrated no perceptible concern for those who would suffer if the medical supplies were not delivered, but had finally agreed to return the nurse and the vaccine in exchange for any member of the Rat Patrol. 

With the collusion of the local authorities, Dietrich managed to kidnap the nearest Rat--who happened to be Sergeant Moffitt--and deliver him to Wansee as agreed. He couldn't help feeling ashamed of himself for his role in this exchange, and left clues so that the rest of the Rat Patrol could follow and possibly rescue their comrade. When he handed Moffitt over, he got a brief glimpse of what Wansee considered "interrogation;" the Obersturmführer shouted barely intelligible questions and struck the Englishman savagely when he refused to answer. Dietrich looked away, disgusted. Wansee tired of his prisoner's lack of response after a little while and the guards dragged him away. Then, to Dietrich's utter horror, Wansee refused to honor his end of the bargain and insisted on keeping the nurse and the vaccine, forcing Dietrich to leave at gunpoint. He had only driven a short distance when the Rat Patrol came zooming up to attack. 

Dietrich left his car and returned on foot, determined to make sure that the Rat Patrol recovered the Red Cross nurse and those priceless supplies. He saw Wansee ducking around to where the prisoners were kept, obviously intent on finishing them off before they could be rescued. There was only one course of action Dietrich could see to save the prisoners and prevent the epidemic. 

The Rat Patrol had returned triumphantly in time for the nurse to finish distributing the vaccine. Although not 100% effective, it would prevent the majority of cases and save hundreds, possibly thousands of lives. Only a few of the villagers--and, unfortunately, a few of Dietrich's men as well--came down with the dreaded disease. Dietrich was pleased to see that his erstwhile enemies stayed a few days to help out in the town's little hospital, but he couldn't help wondering, Did they know? Will anyone find out? 

A knock interrupted his reverie. "Excuse me, Herr Hauptmann," said his aide, "but Herr Oberst has arrived." 

"Very good," said Dietrich, rising from his seat. "I'll go to meet him."

* * *

"It is kind of you to accommodate me on such short notice, Hauptmann Dietrich," said Colonel Forscher as they walked together in the scorching late-afternoon heat through Dietrich's command post. 

"It is no trouble, Herr Oberst," Dietrich said formally. "We are experiencing a brief lull in the action, for which I am grateful. A number of my men are down with typhus despite their vaccinations, and we have had to set up a temporary field hospital." 

They reached a tent that had been hastily set up as an office and Dietrich ushered Forscher in. "I hope this will be suitable for your purposes, sir. If there is anything at all you require, please don't hesitate to ask." 

"Thank you, I believe this will be adequate," said the Colonel, settling himself into the chair and pulling out the desk drawers. "Excellent. You're my last interview, so I may as well use my time here to finish the report altogether. It was certainly awkward of the man to go and get himself killed in an Allied raid just as we were launching our internal investigation of him." 

"Yes, sir." 

"I still have some work to do editing previous material. Perhaps we could schedule your interview for tomorrow afternoon, Herr Hauptmann. I have your written report, but I may have some further questions." 

"Very good, sir." 

There was the sound of running feet outside. "Hauptmann Dietrich!" A voice called. 

Dietrich poked his head outside. "Over here. Come in, Lieutenant." A young officer came in, puffing slightly, and saluted. "The scouts you sent out earlier have returned. There is no evidence of enemy activity in the vicinity, except. . . ." he stopped to catch his breath. 

"What is it, Lieutenant?" asked Dietrich impatiently. 

"They've brought in an Allied prisoner who was found injured near a minefield. Sir, it may be one of the Rat Patrol." 

"The Rat Patrol!" exclaimed Forscher. 

Dietrich fought to contain his reaction, a mixture of excitement and dismay. "Where is this prisoner now?" 

"With the doctor." The lieutenant pointed in the direction of the field hospital. "He's unconscious - they don't know if he'll live." He handed Dietrich a little pile of metal. "Here's his dogtags." 

Dietrich accepted the tags and read them. "You're quite correct, Lieutenant, it is a member of the Rat Patrol. Sergeant Moffitt. A fortunate find, indeed. I want you to take a message to the doctor: he is to report to me here as soon as he's finished with the prisoner." 

"Yes, Herr Hauptmann." The young man saluted and left. 

Forscher rubbed his hands together and grinned at Dietrich. "What a stroke of luck! This prisoner could be very useful to our investigation. By all accounts, he may have been the last person to see our subject alive." Forscher pulled a notebook from his briefcase, flipped it open and began scribbling rapidly. 

When the doctor came in a few minutes later the Colonel all but pounced on him. "Will the prisoner live?" 

The doctor nodded wearily. "He has a serious head injury, but I expect a full recovery." 

Forscher closed his notebook with a snap. "I want to speak to him as soon as he's conscious." 

The doctor frowned. "That may not be wise, Herr Oberst. He is not likely to be coherent and his memory will not be reliable. It will be at least a few days before any serious questioning will be profitable." 

Forscher tapped a pencil on his desk for some seconds. "I understand," he said reluctantly. "Still, the event is recent, it should be fresh in his mind. . . . any information would be helpful." 

"I am short of help as it is," the doctor said testily. "I can't spare a nurse to stay with him full time on the off chance that he might wake up and remember how to talk." 

Dietrich saw a disagreeable argument brewing and interrupted to head it off. "With your permission, gentlemen," he said, "I have to stay up tonight to catch up on some paperwork. I can do it in the hospital as easily as anywhere. If I can have a table near the prisoner I could keep an eye on him and let you know if he says anything." 

Forscher eyed the doctor warily, expecting an objection. To his surprise, he got none. "Should be simple," the doctor said. "We're setting him up in a separate tent with a guard, away from the typhus cases, so you won't be disturbing anyone." 

"See that it is done. You are dismissed, doctor," said Forscher. The doctor saluted and left. Forscher turned to Dietrich. "I appreciate your cooperation." 

"Your investigation is important, sir, and I am honored to be of service." 

Forscher relaxed into a smile. "Between you and me, Herr Hauptmann, the more I learn about this Wansee, the less I am able to regret his death. I begin to think that your 'Rat Patrol' saved us all a great deal of trouble. But it will be useful to have the Engländer's statement. I had hoped to interview the nurse, Miss Arno, but she has been transferred." 

Dietrich nodded politely. He was dismissed and left, his thoughts in turmoil. Presumably each of the Rat Patrollers believed one of the others had shot Wansee; in the chaos of the attack it would be hard to keep track. But he wouldn't put it past Troy to figure it out somehow, and if Moffitt knew or suspected the truth he would be unable to conceal it from Forscher.

* * *

After dinner he went to the small tent adjacent to the larger field hospital set up. As the doctor had promised, a table and chair had been set up for Dietrich to work at; there was even a lamp on the table. A nurse was changing the dressing on Moffitt's head injury as Dietrich came in. "That looks very bad," he commented, spreading his folders out on the table. 

"Yes, sir," she said. "He's lucky we captured him, or he would have died by now." _Lucky for him_, thought Dietrich glumly. Moffitt stirred and mumbled something as the nurse finished wrapping the bandage. She patted his hand with professional sympathy and began packing up her supplies. 

"Has he actually said anything intelligible?" Dietrich asked, coming over to stand beside her. 

She shrugged. "Not in German. Maybe a word or two in English. . . nothing that made sense." 

"Thank you," Dietrich said. She put the scissors and roll of gauze back into her kit and left. Light streamed in briefly as she lifted the tent flap and Dietrich thought he saw Moffitt flinch. "Sergeant?" 

Moffittt half-opened his eyes, seeming to recognize Dietrich. "_Kein Champagner_," he said distinctly, then faded out again. 

_No champagne_? Dietrich puzzled over that one as he went over to his chair, sat down and pulled out the stack of report forms to fill out. 

He knew he was waiting for something. At nine o'clock a new guard came to relieve the man outside. Dietrich went out and dismissed him. "I'll keep an eye on the prisoner. He's not likely to get up and walk away. You go get some sleep." The soldier thanked him and Dietrich watched him walk away into the near total darkness of the camp. 

He returned to his paperwork, shading the lamp away from the patient. Moffitt had had a few more brief waking moments, but hadn't said anything coherent. A couple of times he had startled awake, alarmed, it seemed, by some nightmare, but his eyes closed again when Dietrich spoke a word to him quietly. 

It was after eleven o'clock and Dietrich was almost dozing over his paperwork when he heard what he had been expecting; the faint sound of distant footsteps, someone moving very quietly. Dietrich turned the lamp out and waited in the darkness as the soft steps drew nearer. There was a rustle as the tent flap lifted just enough to allow a man through: an American wearing an Australian bush hat. 

He had taken a couple of steps into the tent when Dietrich flicked the lamp back on and spoke very quietly. "I wouldn't recommend any sudden movements, Sergeant Troy." Troy whirled to see Dietrich holding a gun on him. 

"Dietrich! I should have known it was a trap." 

"You have leaped to the wrong conclusion. An uncharacteristic error, I will admit." Dietrich rose and checked to be sure that the tent flap was completely closed. He waved Troy to the chair with the barrel of the gun. Troy sat down, and was surprised when Dietrich holstered his gun. "Now, Sergeant," he said in a pleasant conversational tone, "To begin with, your friend has a serious head injury. If you tried to take him anywhere tonight you would probably kill him." 

"How do I know that?" Troy looked over at Moffitt, who roused at the sound of a familiar voice. 

Moffitt heard Troy and Dietrich arguing as if from very far away. It was important that Troy believe Dietrich, he knew. "_C'est vrai, mon ami_," he said, "_j'ai entendu le médecin_." Troy just stared at him. 

"In English, Sergeant," Dietrich chided. 

"_Entschuldingung_," Moffitt said and drifted off again. 

"What was that all about?" Troy asked. 

"He was trying to tell you in French that I was telling the truth, that he had overheard the doctor. Then he apologized in German. He didn't realize that he was not speaking English." Dietrich allowed himself a brief chuckle. "A delirious polyglot can make for interesting company. He said something in Arabic a little while ago, but it wasn't one of the dialects I'm familiar with." 

"I guess I'll just have to take your word for it," Troy said. He had to admit his friend looked like death warmed over. 

Dietrich nodded. "In two days he might be well enough to be rescued." 

Troy eyed him with suspicion. "That sounds like an invitation." 

Dietrich shrugged. "In three days he will be well enough to be interrogated. There's a man here from the SS investigating the death of Obersturmführer Wansee. He isn't cruel; your friend will probably survive. But he's very thorough. He uses truth drugs. He'll find out whatever Moffitt knows about Wansee's death." 

Troy digested this for a moment. "And you think Moffitt knows the truth." 

"He isn't stupid, Sergeant. Neither are you." Their eyes met briefly, then Dietrich turned away. 

"You're going to a lot of trouble for him, aren't you?" said Troy suddenly. "It must have occurred to you that your life would be a hell of a lot easier now if he would just conveniently die." 

"Believe me, the thought has crossed my mind. Many times." Dietrich paced to the end of the tent and back. "But as you can see, he's still alive. I find that my conscience is more important to me than my career. I wouldn't hesitate for a moment to kill any of you if we met on the field of battle. Smothering a wounded prisoner is something else entirely." 

"You're an honorable man, sir," Troy said. 

"Thank you, Sergeant," Dietrich said gravely. "Now, about that rescue. . . . I don't want any of my men killed. And I don't want the slightest suspicion of complicity to fall on me." 

"Can you arrange a set-up like tonight, just you and no guard?" 

"Very likely." 

"All right, we'll come in and take him at gunpoint. Would you like us to kidnap you?" 

Dietrich considered this briefly. "No, thank you, Sergeant," he said, "I don't think that will be necessary." His eyes crinkled in amusement. 

Troy grinned back. He patted Moffitt's arm and said, "We'll be back for you, buddy." Then he stepped back out through the tent flap and was gone. 

Dietrich waited a little while before gathering his things and heading back to his own tent. He slept uneasily that night, Wansee, Forscher, and the typhus epidemic playing interchangeable roles.

* * *

The next day passed without incident. Dietrich lent Forscher his complete files on the Rat Patrol in general and Moffitt in particular. The investigator thanked him and asked him to stay. "I'm trying to get together a list of questions for when the prisoner is recovered enough to talk. I have been reviewing your written report, and it is admirably clear, but could we go over your account again, just as far as it involves the Engländer?" 

It was too polite to be an order, but it was definitely not a question, and Dietrich immediately complied. He explained carefully about Wansee's violation of the truce. 

Forscher frowned at him. "You don't have to be so circumspect, Herr Hauptmann. I began this investigation after complaints from both his superiors and some of the men under his command. I intend to prove that his immediate supervisor was negligent in overlooking his insubordination, until he very nearly jeopardized our hold on this area by angering the locals. But I digress. Please continue." 

Dietrich went through the kidnapping of the medical personnel, the shooting of one of the medics, the bargain for the return of the nurse, his capture and delivery of Moffitt. 

"There's something in your report that I don't understand," Forscher interrupted. "Or rather, something that is _not_ in your report. When you returned with the English prisoner, I understand that the Obersturmführer refused to hand over Miss Arno and the medical supplies. And you simply. . . left without them?" Dietrich was silent. Forscher regarded him intently. "I find that difficult to believe from a man of your tenacity." 

Dietrich stared off into the distance and said reluctantly, "I reminded him of our bargain and asked whether he had no honor. He then drew his gun and threatened to shoot me if I did not leave at once. He appeared quite irrational, sir." 

"That was not in your report." 

"It is not the habit of the Wehrmacht to alienate the SS." 

Forscher threw up his hands. "That is _precisely_ what makes my job so difficult! No one wants to say a bad word about anyone. It's an indication of how egregious this fellow must have been that I have any complaints on file at all!" 

"Yes, sir." 

Forscher harrumphed and glanced back down at the report. "Is there anything else you thought it politic not to mention?" 

"No, sir." Dietrich kept his voice neutral. 

"Very well," Forscher sighed. He flipped a page. "And you say that when you left Wansee's encampment, the prisoner was unconscious." 

"Apparently. The guards were dragging him away." 

Forscher shook his head. "It's people like Wansee that give interrogators a bad name. I'm still hopeful the prisoner will be able to give us some information, but it's hard to be sure. Thank you for your assistance."

* * *

The last thing the doctor expected to find the next morning was his English patient awake, alert, and demanding in fluent German to know where he was and what was going on. The doctor sent an orderly to find Forscher immediately, then returned to his patient. 

"You're officially a prisoner of Hauptmann Dietrich, but you will be asked to cooperate in an ongoing investigation by Oberst Forscher of the SS," the doctor explained. "He's looking into the recent incident involving the death of Obersturmführer Wansee." 

Moffitt raised an eyebrow. "Why should I cooperate?" 

Forscher entered at that moment. "Good question. I think I can answer it to your satisfaction." He was holding a hastily-assembled stack of papers with Moffitt's file on top. He opened it, nodded, and closed it again. "You're presently under a sentence of death for espionage. Tell me what I need to know and I can arrange for you to be treated as an ordinary prisoner of war." 

Dietrich, coming by to check on the prisoner, walked in just then. "It sounds like a fair deal," said Moffitt carefully. "It's certainly preferable to being shot. Anyway, my conscience is clear. I'd be happy to tell you how Wansee died." 

Dietrich groaned inwardly. Considering his options, he decided to stay where he was and watch with some dignity as his career went down in flames. 

Forscher pulled a chair up next to the bed and produced his notebook and pencil. "Let's have it then, Sergeant." 

The doctor hovered anxiously nearby. "Only for a few minutes, Herr Oberst." Forscher glared at him and he retreated into the corner next to Dietrich. 

Moffitt was answering the investigator. "Yes, sir. You see, I shot him. He was going to kill Miss Arno, and then all those people. . . would have died of typhus." 

Dietrich maintained his composure with some difficulty. The investigator noted his surprise and regarded Moffitt severely. "The captain here said you were unconscious when he left just a few minutes before." 

Moffitt moved his head slowly from side to side. "No. . . I was pretending. It was the only way to make him stop. He didn't really want answers. . . . Two of the guards took me back to the truck, but only one of them stayed. I took him by surprise, overpowered him, and got his gun." 

Forscher nodded and flipped through a few pages in his notebook. "Where were you with respect to Wansee when you shot him?" 

"Let me think." Moffitt stared at the ceiling for a moment, then returned his gaze to Forscher. "He was facing Miss Arno and me head on, holding a gun on us. . . . Something distracted him from the left. My left, his right, you see. It was when he turned. . . that I had my chance to shoot." 

Forscher scribbled in his notes and nodded. "That squares with the autopsy - he was shot in the left side with a personal sidearm. Thank you, Sergeant, you've been very helpful." He turned to Dietrich, who was standing stock-still in the corner. "You hear that, Herr Hauptmann? I told you he might have some useful information. We'll want to confirm this with truth serum when he's well enough, just to be thorough, but for the moment I'm satisfied." Forscher tucked his notes under his arm and left. 

The doctor bustled over to Moffitt's side. Taking the sergeant's pulse he glared over his shoulder at Dietrich. "You should clear out too, Herr Hauptmann." 

"No," said Moffitt softly. "Let him stay. Just a minute." 

The doctor looked at him oddly. "Very well, I'll come back and look at you later." He turned to Dietrich. "Don't tax him," he said, and left. 

Dietrich sat down in the chair Forscher had been using. "Thank you," he said quietly in English. 

Moffitt met his eyes and smiled. "I didn't get the chance to bring you any champagne, so this seemed like the next best thing." 

"Champagne?" 

"For saving my life." 

"Ah, but you are mistaken, Sergeant. I wasn't saving you. I was preserving the truce, regaining the good graces of the locals, and preventing an epidemic by saving Miss Arno and the supplies." 

"Of course," said Moffitt. "But the essential outcome was the same, from my perspective. I still felt that I owed you something." 

Dietrich reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. "It's been repaid, believe me," he said. Moffitt smiled and his eyes drooped closed.

* * *

Dietrich had no trouble repeating his earlier arrangement. At about eleven o'clock Troy ducked silently into the tent holding his gun ready in front of him. 

Moffitt was sitting up in bed, having been roused earlier by Dietrich. He smiled at the American. "Nice of you to show up, Troy." 

"Sssh!" said Troy and Dietrich simultaneously. 

Moffitt made an apologetic gesture. 

Dietrich looked behind Troy. "Just you?" he asked in a whisper. 

"The others are back at the jeeps. Bringing someone else along would double the risk of being seen." 

"Yes, Sergeant, but how are you going to get him to your rendezvous?" Dietrich pointed to Moffitt. "He can't walk without help. As soon as you're occupied with assisting him, I wrestle your gun away." 

"No, you won't." 

"That's not the point! Normally I _would_, and this is supposed to look realistic." 

Moffitt murmured, "I thought I was out of the delirium phase. Are you two arguing about how to rescue me?" 

"Sssh!" Troy and Dietrich said at the same time. Troy went on without missing a beat. "What I mean is, you're not going to get the gun because I'm not helping Moffitt, _you_ are." 

"All the way back to the jeeps?" 

"Of course. You're my safe-conduct in case we get stopped." 

"Yes, I do see a certain logic. Very well, Sergeant, I accede to your wishes." Dietrich pulled Moffitt's arm around his own shoulders and hoisted him to his feet. "Troy, what happens if I drop him and run?" 

Troy's eyes didn't waver. "I'll kill you." 

"Very good. Shall we go?" 

The camp was dark and quiet and the three men were able to escape detection. They were just outside the camp, within sight of their destination, when Moffitt faltered and stumbled. Dietrich caught him before he could fall and carried him the rest of the way. 

Tully and Hitch watched in some surprise as Dietrich settled Moffitt in the back of Tully's jeep, then turned to Troy. "I do believe fisticuffs are in order, Sergeant," he said very calmly, then moved abruptly to disarm the American. Troy recovered quickly and lashed out, knocking Dietrich down, then leapt for his jeep yelling, "Let's shake it!" Hitch and Tully gunned their engines and the jeeps roared away into the night. Dietrich picked himself up and went to sound the alarm.

* * *

Dietrich reached his office and stopped just outside, alarmed. The light was on inside, and through the thin tent walls he could clearly see the outlines of two men. It looked as if Forscher was sitting at Dietrich's desk, while a guard stood by the door. _Was it all for nothing_? he wondered. _Did he know all along_? 

He squared his shoulders and opened the door. Forscher was sitting with his feet up on the desk, calmly smoking a cigarette. "Oh good, you're here," he said. "I was afraid I might have to send for you. You can go, Corporal." 

The guard saluted and left. 

"I regret to report that the prisoner has escaped," said Dietrich, saluting. 

Forscher returned the salute and looked him slowly up and down. The normally crisp captain was disheveled and had the makings of a spectacular black eye. "Of course, you'll need to send out a patrol to bring him back," said Forscher. "Immediately." He took another drag on his cigarette and leaned back in his chair. "If not sooner."

Dietrich made as if to go and Forscher said, "Not right away, Herr Hauptmann. There's a little matter I wanted to discuss with you first." He smiled unexpectedly. "This escape is actually quite convenient for me. Saves me waiting around a few days just to confirm what I already know." 

Dietrich swallowed and made an effort not to start shaking. 

"I got the information I needed from the prisoner," Forscher continued, "and it puts a tidy ending on my report. I am now closing this investigation. The records will show that Obersturmführer Wansee was killed by Sergeant Moffitt during an attack by the Rat Patrol." 

"Sir?" asked Dietrich, startled. _Did he believe Moffitt's story after all_? 

Forscher smiled. "There is one loose end, but it is really not worthy of official mention." He did not miss the sudden wariness in Dietrich's eyes. "A minor discrepancy between the prisoner's account and the autopsy. Sergeant Moffitt claimed to have wrestled a gun away from one of the guards. But Wansee's guards carried Walthers and the coroner was of the opinion that he was shot with a Luger. I can understand why the Rat Patrol would want to take credit for the man's death, but there's only one man who could have killed him, and it wasn't Sergeant Moffitt." 

Dietrich froze. Forscher continued, "Whoever did it, in my opinion, deserves a medal. But I think that in this case he'd settle for anonymity. What is your opinion, Hauptmann Dietrich?" 

Dietrich breathed a sigh of relief. "Indeed, sir, I believe that he would accept the next best thing."


End file.
